


A new acquisition

by Mossgreen



Series: 2770 ab urbe condita [12]
Category: 2770 ab urbe condita - Fandom, Original Work
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ancient Rome, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Gen, M/M, Non-Sexual Slavery, Slave Trade, Slavery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-29
Updated: 2018-12-04
Packaged: 2019-06-18 10:44:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15484008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mossgreen/pseuds/Mossgreen
Summary: With a house-slave recently 'promoted' to his master's bed, the house steward needs a replacement, and that means a trip to the slave market. Introducing two more members of the household, and some other information. For Vitzy and Imperial_Dragon.While the majority of the series focuses on Ven, he rates a blink-and-you'll-miss-it reference in this story, at least in the first part. As I'm writing the whole thing as a loosely-connected set of one-shots, I beg your forgiveness! Ven will be back soon.





	1. Purchased

**Author's Note:**

> I was asked for some world-building type stuff, and about one of the characters mentioned in passing. So.... This is a bit of a flashback, to maybe six weeks to two months after Ven was, uh, 'promoted' to personal slave; I doubt I will ever write anything comprehensively straightforward in chronology or with an overarching plot, though stranger things have happened! This is not from Ven's perspective, nor does he really make an appearance. I'm perfectly well aware that stories like this generally follow the purchased character through thick and thin until he finds true love in the arms of his master. This isn't one of those stories, my focus for this series is primarily Ven, though I'm hoping to put up a second part to this particular story at some point. 
> 
> I suppose I ought to mention that none of my stuff is beta'd, either – though that might be fairly obvious!
> 
> I have never actually been to Rome so if my geography research lets me down, all I can say is, mea culpa!

Willow had never liked the slave-market, ever, which was understandable, really, especially as he was a slave himself. But the _domus_ needed a new house-slave, and nobody in Master's acquaintance was going to be selling any of theirs any time soon, so Willow was in the slave-market. As the house steward, he was the only one in the house (apart from Master himself) who was entrusted with the purchase of a slave.

It was somewhat cooler in the large market hall, with its small windows set high up in the blank brick walls. Cooler and quieter, away from the hubbub of the market with all the stall-holders hawking their wares. One of the muscle-bound hulks the proprietor used for security detached himself from his buddies in the corner to see if he needed help (or was going to try to break one of the wares free, more likely) but stood down as Willow acknowledged him before heading deeper into the slave-market.

The place was divided roughly into departments. Willow passed the pretty delicate dancing girls, the equivalent of a department store's perfumery, and headed deeper inside. He did not need a litter-bearer, door-keeper or body-guard, so avoided that part of the building.

What he wanted was the general household slaves – and not children's nurses, secretaries, cooks or maids, which were all that was on offer today, apparently. 

It seemed that he would be returning home empty-handed, as he headed down the aisle between General Household Slaves and Bed-Slaves, when one of the boys in the other department caught his eye. He was naked, as all the pleasure slaves were, chained by the ankle to an iron ring set into the floor, and was sitting with his head down, hopeless and depressed. His hair was a soft honey-blond, worn in a rather becoming shaggy cut. His back, now that Willow had stopped to look, was criss-crossed in delicate white scars, far more delicate than any scars produced by a whip, though they would surely lower his resale value as a bed-slave. 

The boy looked up as Willow paused in front of him, though the expression on his face and in his eyes was as hopeless as his posture. Willow crouched down to put himself on a level with the boy, who could only be about eighteen or so. He really was very pretty, as befit a bed-slave, with clear brown eyes, although he was thinner than Willow liked; none of his fellow slaves had ever routinely been denied food in their master's house.

“What's your name?” he asked.

The boy licked his lips. “M... Moss. Sir.” 

He could see the boy – Moss – taking in his attire, the short linen slave-tunic belted with a length of cotton rope and the leather wrist bracers on his arms, though the puzzlement in Moss' eyes did not alter the expression on his face.

“I am not looking for a bed-slave, Moss, but my master wants a new house-slave – someone to help with cleaning and tidying and other household chores, maybe serving meals. Nothing complicated. Do you think you could manage that?”

Moss' eyes flicked up to his face before he looked back down. “Yes, sir.”

Willow checked the number on the tag attached to the chain. “Sit tight; I will be back in a moment.”

He didn't even need to step away in search of the staff, the proprietor was already hurrying over, no doubt informed by one of the muscle that there was a potential sale to be made. 

“Ah. Number 297? You've made a good choice there.” The slave-dealer's smarmy expression barely flickered as he noted Willow's attire, though some of the oiliness dissipated. “He costs ten thousand.” 

“Two. He's hardly in perfect condition for a bed-slave, or haven't you noticed the scarring?” 

“Eight You'll not have your cock sucked more expertly this side of the Adriatic.” 

“Three. He looks half-dead, and that is entirely the fault of the staff. Do you not feed them, or something?” 

“Five. And not an _as_ less.” 

“Four. And not an _as_ more.” 

“Done. I hope your master knows how careful you are with his money. It would be a pleasure to sell _you_ , if your master ever wants to trade you in.”

“He does know. You won't see a single _as_ of commission from my sale, sir.” Willow took the tablet the dealer held out and applied his thumb where indicated. 

The dealer looked a little surprised that the sale was not summarily rejected; instead, the system flashed up the message _Authorised by his owner to purchase_ as he took it back and offered it to Moss to add his thumbprint. A percentage of the sale money was automatically diverted to a fund held in the slave's name to go towards saving for him to purchase his freedom, and the only way for the records to follow the slave was by direct association with the slave at the time of purchase. The sale would be blocked if the slave being sold did not add his identification during the sale.

Once the sale had gone through, the dealer stooped to unlock the chain from around Moss' ankle. Willow offered him a hand to help him stand up; the slaves for sale got some exercise during the day, but only for a few minutes at a time, and Moss looked as though he had been kneeling for quite a while.

“Hold on a moment,” he said once Moss could stand unaided, and pulled a slave tunic out of the satchel over his shoulder. “It might be a little large, but it'll be better than taking you halfway across town naked. There's a cord here, too.”

Moss pulled the tunic over his head, looking grateful not to be expected to parade around nude, and quickly tied the offered rope around his waist, belting it in the same fashion as Willow wore his tunic. 

“And this is only for now,” Willow added, pulling out a length of chain with two wrist-cuffs. He snapped one cuff around Moss' right wrist, and the other around his own left wrist, much to Moss' surprise. “It'll stop us getting separated in the crowd. It's busy as Hades out there, we don't want you getting lost before you've had a chance to actually get in the door. The key's in the house, so don't think you can do anything like knock me out and rifle the bag for it, either. If you need something to eat before we get home, tell me – it's pretty hot out there and I have no wish to end up carrying you.”

“Water, if... please, sir.”

Willow nodded. “There's a water fountain just outside. I'm surprised there isn't a supply here, though I can't say I'm surprised Barbillus doesn't want to pay for his own supply. Greedy bastard. Come on. You can drink your fill outside.”

True to his word, Willow stopped by the fountain once they were out of the slave-market. 

“Place gives me the creeps, and I don't mind admitting it,” he said, standing close to Moss to give him as much slack in the chain as he could as the boy reached for one of the dippers chained to the fountain, drinking two cups straight off before glancing at Willow and shifting so he could pour a third over his head. Willow didn't ask whether that was in response to the heat, or to the nature of the slave-market itself, which always left him with a vague feeling of having picked up lice just by going inside, although they were scrupulous about keeping their wares vermin-free. The proprietors wouldn't want to be dragged through the law-courts after having given a magistrate lice when he was only looking for a pretty little bed-warmer, after all.

“That's not a bad idea,” Willow said, having a drink himself and then also pouring a dipper of water over his head. “It's far too hot for this malarkey.”

“I didn't ask your name, sir,” Moss said, looking a little more at ease now that he was clothed and not about to drop in a dead faint due to dehydration.

“I'm Willow. I'm the house steward... that's why I had the authorisation to purchase you. I'm sorry it means you won't get so much in your _pecūlium_ , but I couldn't pay more than six thousand, and he'd've thought I was cracked to settle for that.” The pronoun was accompanied by a thumb indicating the building they had just left.

He straightened up, and Moss took the hint, thankful to be chained by the wrist and not collared and leashed. Perhaps it was because Willow was also a slave; he was sure no actual owner would be as considerate.

Willow continued talking as they walked. “Master lives up on the Quirinal – all those posh rich houses. He's... not vicious, like some owners, but strict, with definite ideas. Doesn't like slaves standing if they're in the same room as him unless it's unavoidable, that sort of thing. Don't talk unless he addresses you directly – but that's common enough. I'll make sure you're kept out of his way until you're settled in and know the ropes, though. If you've got any problems with any of the others or there's something happening you don't understand, I'm the one to ask. There's a hierarchy and you're the lowest of the actual house-slaves, but you're not right at the bottom of the heap – and it's not a competition anyway.”

“What about... sexual service, sir?” 

Willow glanced at him. “Oh, of course – you used to be a bed-slave. If Master wants any of us, he summons us, though he hasn't really done that in a while; he's been busy with his new bed-slave lately. You're welcome to have sex with anyone you like, if they're willing to have you, but we don't go in much for bribery and that kind of thing. Nobody has to do anything they don't want, at least among ourselves. You can offer but... don't worry if they turn you down – and I'd wait until you know what people are like before you start flinging yourself at them. Give it at least a week, alright? Or until you have a fair idea who'll be more likely than to take you up on it, anyway. And nobody's going to make you, either, if you don't want to.”

“I don't think I'd mind... with you, sir.”

Willow paused for half a step and ran a hand through his nondescript brown hair. “We'll see. Let's get you settled in first before we do any of that, shall we?”

It was a hot day, Rome's hills were steep and Willow was glad to round the corner and find Master's house in view. There was a tug at his wrist and he realised Moss had stopped stock-still. 

“It's so... big,” he said, in response to Willow's querying look.

“Yes – Master has a deal of business interests. They've made him a rich man. Come on, let's get inside.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translation: _domus_ : townhouse


	2. New home

It _was_ a big house, Willow admitted to himself. Living there for as long as he had, he didn't often appreciate that until he saw it through the eyes of a newcomer like Moss. He glanced at the clock on the wall as they entered the slaves' part of the house.

“Let's get this off, shall we?” he said, lifting his wrist to indicate the chain. “And then we can find you something to eat – you look as though you've been starved for a month.” 

He led Moss along the corridor and through a doorway hung with a curtain, into what was obviously the slaves' dormitory: a row of cots, neatly made, on either side of the room, each with a night-stand beside it, and each with a colourful striped cotton bedspread. The room was empty of people at the moment; no doubt the slaves were all busy elsewhere in the house. Willow's own bed was in the alcove near the door, an illusion of privacy for the most senior slave. There were various restraints hanging from hooks on the wall of Willow's bed-space, each with its own key. Willow reached for a key hanging by itself and unfastened the manacle from his wrist, and then the cuff around Moss' wrist, hanging the restraints back on the hook with their key, before reaching for a clipboard propped on the bedside table. 

“While we're in here, let's make sure you have somewhere to sleep tonight. Bed 6, between Ven and Junio – we'll get you some bedding before coming back here. Ven doesn't always sleep here, seeing as the master picked him to be his bedwarmer, but he does still have a bedspace.” He indicated a bed halfway down the room, its mattress bare although the cots either side were neatly made. “You're not so famished you can't have a shower before you eat,” he added, turning back to the new slave. “Do you a world of good, getting the stink of that place off you, I shouldn't wonder. This way.” 

The room he took Moss to was a communal shower area with four shower-heads spaced along each side of the room, with a drain running down the centre of the room, straddled by a long bench. Just inside the door was a set of shelves with towels neatly stacked on them.

There was someone already using one of the showers as they came in, lathering wet hair under the spray. He seemed, from what Moss could tell, to be somewhere in his mid-twenties, about average for a house-slave, and his slender body glistened under the water. He wasn't muscular like some slaves were, but he didn't have the undeveloped slenderness of a teen, either. 

“You'll be glad to learn Master doesn't regulate the temperature like some owners do,” Willow was saying, as he stripped his own tunic off. “If you want a really hot shower, you can have one.” He caught Moss' expression and smiled. “What, you think I'm going to hang around and wait till you're done before continuing our tour? I've been wandering around in the hot sun too, you know.”

The other slave turned under the spray, rinsing his hair. Moss noticed the familiar slightly wide-legged stance, and the leather straps around his prick and balls. “You must be my replacement,” the other said with a grin. “I'm Ven, until recently just one of the house-slaves here.”

“Moss,” said Moss, with a slightly self-conscious grin of his own, looking away as Ven bent to retrieve a bottle of shower gel, inadvertently showing the base of the plug inside him, a familiar sight that explained the legs-open stance.

“Ven used to be one of my best house-slaves,” Willow said, stepping under the spray. “And then he went and caught the master's eye right when the master was looking for a new slave to take to his bed...”

“I was scrubbing the floor outside his room,” Ven interjected. “I suppose we could have just ignored it, but the master would have noticed that quick enough. Help yourself to shampoo and soap, Moss – on the window-sill, there. Anyway, if it hadn't been then, it would've been when I was sweeping the atrium, or hanging fresh curtains at one of the _cubicula_ doorways, or something.” 

“Or it might've been Junio, yes, I know,” Willow said, efficiently lathering his short hair. 

Ven had turned the shower off and was rubbing himself down with a towel. There had been no tunic on the centre bench where Moss and Willow had put theirs, but Moss had assumed that Ven had left his elsewhere until Willow paused in soaping his arms to enquire about it. “No tunic, Ven?”

Ven grimaced. “I'm on clothing restriction for three days. Thirty seconds too long removing it when I came back to Master's room last time. So I get to parade around the house naked for a bit. At least it isn't the middle of winter.” 

Moss was facing the tiled wall at this point, and winced. That did not sound at all like a master he would be willing to cross... but how easy would it be to learn his new duties and not fuck them up? _Master's strict, with definite ideas_ , Willow had said. But then, there were worse punishments, and a master's bed-slave should be used to going naked.

Ven must have noticed Moss' expression when he turned, because his own grew apologetic. “I didn't mean to suggest... Master wouldn't do that to anyone but me, so you needn't worry too much. And he's not as... easily angered as I just made it sound. You'll be all right.” Ven folded the towel and dropped it into a wicker hamper by the shelves where the clean ones were stored. “I'll see you later. Nice to meet you, Moss.” 

“Likewise, sir.”

Ven paused, grinning, his hand on the doorframe. “I could get used to that, you know – but my name's Ven.”

“Yes – Ven.”

“I might as well give you the house rules now,” Willow said, soaping himself down as Ven vanished back to... wherever he was supposed to be. Moss tried not to admire Willow's muscular chest and brawny arms too openly, concentrating on washing the stink of the slave-market out of his hair and off his skin, though the filthiness felt more than superficial. Staying there for too long meant it got under your skin in ways Moss couldn't even begin to define.

He lifted his eyes to Willow's face, giving the older and more senior slave his full attention. “Sir?”

Willow turned in the spray, rinsing himself off. “If you enter a room where the master is, or he comes into a room where you are, kneel immediately – or if you're doing something that means you can't immediately, bow your head, acknowledge him audibly and kneel exactly as soon as you can – but for Jupiter's sake don't go trying to scramble down a ladder to drop to your knees if you're hanging curtains or something. You smile, but I've seen it happen because someone didn't employ the ounce of common sense they were born with. Poor sod turned his ankle, rather badly.”

“Yes, sir.” Moss likewise began to rinse off, grateful that he could have the shower hot. He had really needed that heat.

“Along with that, he prefers his slaves to crawl not walk when in his presence. Again, unless you physically can't.”

Moss nodded. It was not unheard of for masters to insist their bed-slaves crawled, but to have the household slaves do so as well was unusual.

“Don't speak to him unless he addresses you first, which should go without saying. Any comment or question directed specifically to you is to be answered verbally if possible, and Master is naturally addressed as Master. His guests are addressed as Sir or Madam unless they specifically direct otherwise.”

They dried themselves off and got dressed again. “I'll show you the rest of the house now while Master's out, but I'll try and find you duties to keep you in the slaves' part away from Master for your first week or so, until you've settled in a bit, although he'll probably want to see who I've spent his money on.”

Moss was less than enthusiastic about that idea, but it was only the most menial of house-slaves who only came into contact with their owner once or twice a year.

“Right, first things first – the latrines are next door, should you need them.” Willow indicated a closed door to their left. 

“Here's where we eat,” he added, guiding Moss through another doorway into a dining room or refectory. There were a number of tables, all with benches, and Willow indicated he should take a seat, before vanishing through a second doorway into what must be the kitchen – Moss could see several slaves inside, all busy with something, and could smell the tantalising scents of food being prepared.

Willow returned with a tray and set it down. “Soup – I think it's duck. Bread, and a cold dormouse from last night; there were one or two left by this morning. Tuck in.”

Moss did not need telling twice; it was actual food, the soup at least was hot – and it was far tastier than the slop dished out in meagre portions twice a day by the slavers. There was wine too, even if it was _lora_ , the cheap stuff bought for slaves which was made from the third pressing of the grapes and which bore a closer relationship to vinegar than it did to the sort of wines the master was likely to drink. 

“What d'you need to know? We eat after the master, of course – though if he's having a party, anyone serving food is allowed to have a bit of bread beforehand. Puts the guests off their meals if they can hear a slave's stomach growling.”

Moss grinned at that. If all the slaves were as nice as Willow – the steward and therefore the chief slave – then it wouldn't be so bad, he thought. He was famished, but it wasn't long before he pushed the tray away; he'd been with the slavers for long enough that a full meal seemed enormous. “Where does this go?” he asked.

“In one of the racks – the kitchen staff deal with those, and your duties are elsewhere,” Willow replied, indicating the wheeled racks standing ready against the kitchen wall. “Let's get on with the rest of the tour, then, shall we?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations: cubicula, plural of cubiculum – bedroom. Usually they opened directly off the atrium of a house, with privacy granted only by a curtain. (Generally, the only doors a house had were those opening to the outside, and if a room needed to be able to be secured for some reason.)  
> conterburnium – usually referred to a soldier's eight-man tent or dormitory, but was also used in reference to the slaves' sleeping quarters in a private home. I have used it here in the latter sense; the best translation would be 'dormitory'
> 
> Other notes: The very best and most expensive wines were made from the juice extracted by treading the grapes, after that, the skins were pressed, up to three times for different qualities of wine. _posca_ was cheap wine of the sort sold in the drinking establishments of the Subura and the Aventine. The very cheapest wine, reckoned good only for slaves, was extracted during the third pressing of the grapes, and called _lora_. Even Cato recommended that slaves be given 5 litres of wine a week, although he recommended it for dietary needs and for the slaves' strength, not for their enjoyment. Very few people would waste decent wine on their slaves.


	3. Meeting Master

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The rest of the house-tour, and an early night for Moss
> 
> I do have a tendency to rush endings when the middle of the story gets too long and drawn out for no reason; I've tried not to do that here but I honestly have no clue whether I managed or not!

Willow took Moss back out into the hall. “Right, you've seen the _contuburnium_ , the showers, you know where the latrines are. Master is working, this is as good a time as any to show you around the house itself, I think.”

He indicated a doorway. “The kitchen has another door to the main part of the house, so that food can be taken through to the _triclinium_ as quickly as possible. We're going through this one here – you'll only use the kitchen door if you're taking food through.” He grinned. “Only because Grumio – the cook – gets annoyed at anyone invading his kitchen without good reason. Just walking through isn't a good reason. I think he's trying to persuade the master to close the second door off and turn it into a serving hatch, anyway – which makes sense, if you ask me.”

There was a largish sort of alcove to their left, with a window high up in the wall. Below the window in the alcove stood a cage. It was bolted to the floor and big enough to contain a metal-framed cot, a stool and a bucket. The door stood open, and the plastic-coated mattress was bare of any bedding, although a rough blanket was draped over the foot of the bed. The cage, while large, was not quite high enough to allow any occupant to stand up straight; the top edge was at Moss' eye-level.

By law, every household that had slaves had to provide somewhere secure to lock up any that misbehaved, but Moss' previous experience of cages was of something that could double as a cage for a large dog. A slave confined in one of those was limited to remaining curled up, or on their knees. This seemed practically palatial in comparison.

Willow noticed his expression, but misconstrued it. “I don't recall the last time that was actually used,” he said. “Properly, I mean. We shoved Grumio in it last Saturnalia. He got riotously drunk and his snoring was keeping everyone awake. We didn't lock him in or anything. The regulations give a minimum size for a slave cage, but Master has room for this, it's out of the way...” he shrugged. “And it's barely ever used.”

“I wasn't... I didn't mean...”

“It's all right, you needn't look like I'm going to snap at you. Anyway, there's the atrium in front of us – most of the bedrooms open off the atrium, but there's two or three that open to the garden colonnade – though one of them's mostly used for storage nowadays. It's a big house, but it's easy enough to find your way around.”

The area they were standing in was almost a secondary atrium, just off the atrium itself, although much smaller. With the door to the slaves' part of the house closed behind them, the layout of the rest of the house could be easily seen.

“You won't have to deal with any of Master's own rooms, Ven looks after those. We'll start with the bath-house – if I move you round to a different part of the house, different duties, every couple of weeks or so, it'll give you a good grounding in how the place runs and if we're short-staffed somewhere, I'll know there's someone else who can cover it. It'll give you a proper chance to get to know everyone, and if you find something you like or you're good at, we'll see about assigning you there permanently.”

They went into the latrines as Willow spoke. There was another door into the changing room of the bath-house itself.

“I won't go into detail about everything – I'll probably forget something, and you'll never remember it all anyway. This gets a wipe over every day, at the absolute minimum, and preferably a full clean. Same with the changing room, here,” he added as they passed through the door. “Oh, and you'll need to check whether there are any towels to be washed. The shelves should be restocked with clean towels every night, and the oil-bottles should be topped up then as well. Basically, just make sure it's clean and tidy. Grab a pair of slippers – the floor gets hot in the _caldarium_ – and we'll go through.”

Moss hurried to obey, taking a look round as he did, as if to note where things were at the moment, in their proper place before following Willow into the _tepidarium_. There was a large circular basin in the corner facing the doorway, with the statue of a nymph pouring a stream of water from a pitcher.

“There really isn't much to do here – mop the floor down in the evening, or after you know it's been used, make sure any towels are picked up. There's one left behind more often than not if the master's bathed. Ven does his best to make sure that the towels are put in the hamper, but he can't always, not if he's attending the master. It needs spraying every week to keep the mould at bay in the areas it's most likely to develop – that's done last thing so it has a chance to dissipate before the morning. It's given a proper going over every month. Same in the _caldarium_ – everything's been specially treated to be mould resistant, which helps enormously.”

They went through into the _caldarium_ , which was noticeably hotter, though without a pool to add to the atmosphere. There was nothing of any real interest in here, two or three marble benches, at a height that allowed a standing person to massage someone lying down on of them. 

“I'm going to presume you know how to give a massage,” Willow said as he led the way through to the next door, which led into the much colder _frigidarium_.

Moss nodded. “I suppose it would look strange if I didn't,” he said and stopped short. “There's a proper pool?”

It wasn't a large one, by any means, not on the scale of those found in most public bath-houses, but the majority of the _frigidarium_ was dominated by a large sunken pool, maybe ten metres long by three wide. 

“Yes. It's drained properly as often as possible – we take advantage of the master's business trips to give the whole bath-house a thorough clean, and do so as often as we can while he's here. It's more hygienic than the public baths, and of course the master regularly makes use of it, and so do his guests, when he has people staying here. He does use the public baths as well, though not as often as I think he would otherwise. Ven's the master's body slave, so he generally waits on him here, but there's a rota, of sorts, for the rest of us who may be required to serve any guests Master has – although most of them bring their own slaves, it's not unknown for a guest to require one of us to give a massage or whatever.”

The 'whatever' probably included sexual service, but that wouldn't be at all unusual, in Moss' experience, and while being lent out was nobody's idea of a wonderful time, people generally took better care of their friend's property than they did their own. Anyway, that wasn't something to worry about now, not when there was so much else to take in.

They walked round the pool back to the changing room, and thence to the atrium again. “If you're required to attend anyone in the bath-house, I suggest you leave your tunic in our shower area and take a towel from there. If you don't get any warning, fold your tunic out of the way and leave it in one of the cubbyholes in the main changing-room and take a towel from there.”

There was another slave standing by the wall as they came into the main part of the atrium. He smiled at Moss and gave Willow a quizzical look. 

“Junio, this is Moss, Ven's replacement. Moss, Junio's the next senior house-slave after me. You'll shadow him while you're learning your duties – and if you have any questions, he's the one to ask. I'm giving him the tour of the house right now, but he'll be with you from tomorrow.”

“All right – I'll look forward to it.”

There was a quiet chime from an unobtrusive panel on the wall behind Junio, who turned to look before darting over to the _tablinum_. It was not long at all before he was back, with an apologetic expression on his face. “Master wants to meet you,” he said to Moss, with a quick glance at Willow, before resuming his position.

Moss swallowed and wiped suddenly-damp hands on his tunic. Talking with the senior slave was one thing; talking with the man who actually owned you was quite another – what if he didn't like Moss, didn't agree with Willow's purchase of him?

Willow squeezed his shoulder. “It'll be fine,” he said. “Just remember what I've told you – follow my lead.” 

He led Moss to the _tablinum_ and knelt. “This is the new slave, Master.”

Moss knelt too, automatically spreading his knees and lowering his eyes.

There was a chuckle from the man sitting at the desk. “There's only one slave in the house who kneels like that, and it isn't you. You may close your legs, Moss. It is Moss, isn't it?”

“Yes, Master,” Moss said, adjusting his position and hoping he wasn't blushing.

“All right, Moss, stand up, undress and let me have a look at you.”

Moss swallowed. Nudity was nothing new to him – to anyone who had ever been sold, in fact; Roman masters did not buy merchandise they could not examine properly, and Moss had been listed as a bed-slave anyway. He rose smoothly to his feet, unfastened the cord around his waist and pulled the tunic off, dropping it to the floor and keeping his eyes lowered as his new master stood up and approached.

“Hmm. Turn.”

Moss obeyed.

“Four thousand sestertii because of the scarring, I see. That is not from a whip.”

“No, Master. My... my last master liked to cut, Master.”

“I will never understand that,” his master said, and put a hand on Moss' shoulder to turn him back around. “Your _pecūlium_ won't suffer because of that. You're on the thin side, but that will soon be put right – and I don't withhold food as a punishment. Do you read?”

Moss blinked up at him, startled, before quickly dropping his gaze again submissively. “Yes, Master.”

“Hmm. You may get dressed again.”

Moss hurried to obey, dropping gracefully back to his knees once he was clothed again, making sure to kneel the same way Willow was, with his knees together.

“You may have an early night tonight, Moss. You are both dismissed.”

“Yes, Master.”

They rose to their feet and retreated to the atrium, both sighing in relief.

“Master receives his clients every morning from about ten o'clock – except on Wednesday, which is his day for his own private business,” Willow said. “So the atrium is swept and dusted every day before ten – and there's a rota for the _lararium_ \- filling the lamp for Vesta and making sure it's all kept neat and tidy and that there's bread and salt on the altar, and water in the jar there. You'll shadow Junio for your first day or two, just to be sure you know how we do it here.”

Moss nodded; there was a lot to learn and every house hold had their own quirks and preferred way of doing things; he would rather start out learning how this house did them than try guessing, guess wrong and get into trouble for a wrong guess – he'd seen that happen before and it was never fun for the slave concerned, who was not really the one to blame for it.

He led Moss towards the front door, confusing him for a moment before knocking at a closed door in the short passageway, and pushing it open to reveal the door-keeper's cubbyhole.

“Petrus, this is Moss, the newest member of the household.” He stood aside so that Moss could step in, too. The room, as plainly decorated as the slave-quarters, contained a bed, a chair and an ancient table with an equally ancient TV, which had to be at least as old as Moss himself. The room's occupant looked up. 

He was several years older than Willow, at the sort of age by which most slaves had retired (or rather, had been retired, if they hadn't been freed), and he fiddled with his ear. As he lowered his hand, Moss saw that he was wearing a hearing-aid.

“Moss. Nice to meet you,” he said, and gave Willow a pointed look over Moss' shoulder.

“Are we interrupting something? Oh – I see.” 

Moss glanced at the TV screen. In slightly fuzzy colour he could see one of the characters from a classic comedy – the owner of a small shop 'somewhere on the Aventine' berating his hapless slave, when his crush came in to buy something. 

“We won't keep you, then,” Willow said with a grin, and guided Moss back out. “Petrus is on duty during the day, and the house-slaves take turns to sleep there overnight, just in case of the unexpected – Petrus is deaf and won't sleep with his hearing-aid in, so he'd never hear the door-bell if he was asleep when it rang. It's wired into the intercom, but it only rings in his cubbyhole. 

“There's someone on duty in the atrium all the time Master's at home or expecting guests. There's always somebody designated to be on duty, in case of unexpected visitors, and in that instance, Petrus will use the intercom system to let them know.” 

They were heading back through the atrium now and Willow paused almost opposite Junio, by a second panel. “I don't know if you've used a system like this before,” he said, indicating it. The panel showed a clear plan of the house, with an LED in each room of the master's part of the house and one in the hall of the slave quarters. Each room also had a button set into it, apart from the _tablinum_ , the master's bedroom and the training room. 

“If you need to call anyone, just press the button for the room you're calling. You can't call the master's rooms, though he can call out – it lights up to show where you're wanted. If you need to talk to the master, you go and speak to him directly, if he isn't busy.”

Moss nodded; it made sense that a slave could not summon his owner the way the owner could summon the slaves.

“It's tied into the security system, too; if the panic button is hit, the light goes red and the chime is different. The panic alarm sounds down in the local _vigiles_ station-house – we've never actually used the alarm, but it is tested regularly.”

Moss nodded, and fought back a yawn, which made Willow glance at the watch set into his wrist-band. “Jupiter! I had no idea it was as late as that – the master will be having his dinner soon. Do you want any dinner yourself – I know you had a late _prandium_ and that was probably a larger meal than you've had lately.”

Moss shook his head. “No, thank you, sir – that was plenty. May I... may I go to bed, please, sir? It's been a long day and I've got a lot to think about.” And no doubt the slaves woke early here, as they did in any well-regulated household.

“Of course. Let's go and get you some bedding.”

Willow led the way back to the slave-quarters, pausing at a cupboard outside the _contubernium_ , where he pulled out two sheets and a pillow-case before pausing. “Which one of these would you prefer?” he asked, showing two different cotton bedspreads. 

“The blue, I think, please, sir,” Moss said.

“I'll get you some blankets in a moment – the linen store's upstairs. I'm going to presume you can make your own bed while I do that.”

“Yes, sir.”

The mattress was little more than a thick foam pad covered in mattress ticking, and it did not take Moss long at all to tuck the sheet in neatly. A quick check of the bed next to his revealed that its owner had a blanket under the cotton bedspread, so he waited until Willow returned, carrying a pillow and a blanket, and two spare tunics which went into the drawer of the bed-side table.

It was only another few minutes before Moss' bed looked the same as the others in the room, and he fought back another yawn.

“I'll get Junio to get you up in the morning – I think he's next for _lararium_ duty, so he can show you that, and then you can do it the day after, with him watching,” Willow said. “For now, though, get you head down, you've had a long day and we don't generally get to bed as early as this.”

He left the room, and Moss sat on his bed, just breathing. Last night, he'd been naked, chained up and given a bare mattress to sleep on, tonight he was in a proper bed, with a proper blanket – and a pretty spread over the blanket, too, and a real pillow (though a thin one).

He pulled his tunic off and draped it over the rail at the foot of the cot before pulling the bedclothes over him. Hot water in the showers, actual food and a proper bed... he could get used to this, he thought, drifting to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translation:  
>  _cubicula_ , plural of _cubiculum_ – bedroom. Usually they opened directly off the atrium of a house, with privacy granted only by a curtain. (Generally, the only doors a house had were those opening to the outside, and if a room needed to be able to be secured for some reason.)  
>  _contuburnium_ – usually referred to a soldier's eight-man tent or dormitory, but was also used in reference to the slaves' sleeping quarters in a private home. I have used it here in the latter sense; the best translation would be 'dormitory', which I used in a previous chapter  
>  _triclinium_ – the dining room, named for the three couches set around the table. Roman dinners were eaten reclining on one arm.  
>  _lararium_ \- the household shrine, usually located in the atrium or the slave quarters.  
>  _vigiles_ – the combined fire brigade and police force of Ancient Rome, here referring to the police force of modern Rome.
> 
> House plan:  
>   
> 


	4. The first morning

Moss had no idea what time it was when he was woken by an insistent shake of his shoulder. He blinked awake, momentarily confused by his surroundings, and the lack of a chain around his ankle. He sat up, rubbing his eyes in the pre-dawn dimness of the room as the memory came back: he'd been bought yesterday and this was the first full day in his new master's house. 

The movement seemed to satisfy his fellow slave, who stepped back to allow him to collect himself, and he threw the covers back on his bed (his bed! He still couldn't quite believe that he had his own bed here) and fumbled for the tunic he had discarded the previous evening.

He followed the other slave out of the room, cautious in case he disturbed any of the other slaves; he had no wish to get off to a bad start with any of them. The dormitory was only screened from the rest of the slave quarters by a curtain, so neither of them said anything until they were in the latrine area, where they could wash their faces and hands, blinking in the sudden glare as the lights came on.

"I suppose you've done this before – cleaning and tidying the _lararium_ and all?" Junio said, scrubbing his face as Moss washed his hands. 

Moss nodded. "Well, that is... I supposed every house is different, though some things are going to be the same."

"It's not difficult. I should think the hardest part is figuring out where yesterday's offerings should go. Come on, if you're done. We'll need to collect a couple of things from the kitchen first."

Moss followed him out of the ablutions area and through the dining room to the kitchen. There was a salt-shaker on the counter and a bread roll wrapped in a linen napkin and Junio took them both, and paused to flick a wall-switch before they left.

"Whoever's up first puts the water heater on for hot drinks for everyone. We don't have to, but it saves time later – and the master gets his morning coffee quicker, too. The kitchen staff top it up last thing, we just turn it on in the morning for them."

Moss couldn't help giving the cage a scowl as they passed through the swinging doors into the main part of the house. It was bigger than the one he'd been kept in most recently, but it was still a silent threat. Which was what it was supposed to be, he conceded, grudgingly.

The _lararium_ was directly ahead of them once they steered left fractionally to round the corner of the _frigidarium_ wall, tucked into the far corner of the atrium, with the decorative oil lamp for the Vestal flame hanging from the ceiling. The flame didn't shed enough light and Junio paused to flick a switch, bathing the area in the soft golden glow of a single spotlight aimed directly at the small shrine with its three bronze figures representing the Lares, and the coarse stone heads representing the Penates.

There were several shawls hanging from hooks to the left of the niche and Moss looked quizzically at Junio as they stepped into the white marble square delineating the bounds of the _lararium_ itself. 

"That one's Master's, these are for any guests who might take part in familial rites, this is for Willow's use, and these are ours," Junio said, speaking quietly. They were all white linen, but the master's had delicate white embroidery and silk fringing, Willow's had silk fringing and the guests' were all embroidered. Junio passed the items he was holding to Moss and took one of the plain shawls down and draped it over his head before passing another one to Moss, who did likewise once he'd given the salt-cellar and bread roll back to Junio.

"Salt first, I think," Junio said. "We can't throw it away, of course, so it generally goes into one of the salt cellars for the table. Here, there's a canister of salt on the shelf down there." He turned the salt-shaker over and popped the rubber stopper out before reaching for the shallow bronze dish with the offertory salt in it, and carefully tipped it into the salt-cellar before replacing the stopper.

"You don't need to put much in there; there's no point wasting it," he said, passing the empty bronze dish to Moss, who had the larger container ready. "Bread roll on the plate – wait a minute, that needs a wipe." 

He reached for a cloth from the shelf below the altar, dampened it with a little water from the amphora in the wall sconce, and wiped the plate over, before replacing the offering bread. 

"Yesterday's usually goes to make breadcrumbs, but I think Grumio's got enough to be going on with, and that water needs replacing," he said. "We'll do that last, I think."

He reached for a duster from the shelf. "Everything you need is under here – if you notice we're running low, check the store-room. I'll show you where that is in a bit – and if there's no spares there, let Willow know. There's a check-list on the store-room wall for the things we use a lot of."

He ran the duster over the Lares and Penates, moving things to dust the altar itself, and paused. "I think that's dead," he said, and removed a small vase with a very dead rose before replacing the duster.

"Most important thing is to check the oil in the lamp – we can't have that going out," he added, reaching for a bottle of olive oil. "It doesn't use much oil but if it's not topped up every day, it'll go out and there'll be Hades to pay. If you add some into the reservoir, just there. Perfect."

He replaced the bottle of oil on the shelf with the duster.

"Doesn't really take two, but I was told to show you what needs doing," he said, and passed the previous day's bread to Moss, along with the vase, and lifted the amphora down before removing his shawl.

Moss hung his own shawl on the hook one-handed and followed Junio back through the house toward the slave quarters. They diverted before they got to the swing door, and Junio opened one of a set of double-glazed bifold doors.

"Willow didn't show me this," Moss admitted, finding himself in a colonnade surrounding a garden.

"Oh, right. It won't take long to show you, then," Junio said. "There's a bird table by the fountain there – if you crumble that bread up, that'll do nicely. Or you can eat it if you want; though it's not long till breakfast. I'll just empty this – it's fine to water the garden with it, or wash with it, but don't go tipping it down the drain. It's supposed to be unlucky, the same as burning that bread is."

Moss waited for him to finish, and he carefully set the amphora down in a stand once he'd emptied the last drips into an urn containing a rose-bush. 

"Right, here's the other door to the kitchen – it's only used really if Master has guests to dinner, though he does entertain quite a lot. Grumio wants to get the door blocked in and turned into a serving hatch, which makes sense. This's a nice spot for a breather, if the master's not around and your chores are all done – though it faces west, but the _peristylium_ means it doesn't get sun right into it except very late in the afternoon. This is the winter _triclinium_. This's what Master calls the playroom, or the training room. It's really only Ven who goes in there, though sometimes we have to shift some of the furniture around. This is the summer _triclinium_. And these are all _cubicula_ , though this one's more storage than anything. This is the other door through to the atrium, though we only use it in winter, really – you walk right past Master's bedroom door if you go through here. And of course this is the other side of the _tablinum_. And – oh, of course, you want to get rid of that. Icarus has a compost bin hidden, here." 

It was very cunningly hidden, too, in a corner between two bushes and the back of a rose-covered trellis. Moss slipped the wilted flower under the lid Junio cracked open, and they returned to where Junio had left the amphora. "We just fill it up from the tap here, it doesn't need anything fancy," Junio said. "If you could turn the tap on – thanks."

They waited in a comfortable silence as the jar filled. The sky above them was lightening, although they couldn't see the sunrise itself because of the colonnade and the high walls of the house surrounding the garden. To be honest, Moss didn't think you'd be able to see the sunrise in town anyway because of all the buildings.

It was surprisingly quiet and he guessed that was because of the time of day; the traffic must stop bustling about at some point in the night, and there weren't supposed to be any vehicles other than the rickshaws and cycleshaws during the day. The Imperial Postal Service used them as well, to deliver letters and packets within the city boundary at a time when the recipients would actually be able to sign for anything needing a signature. Most people sending notes or cards to their near neighbours employed a slave to carry them, meaning that the Imperial Postal Service generally only carried mail sent longer distances – between towns or from one province to another.

"Right, that's full," Junio said, and Moss turned the tap off. "When you're doing this yourself, you need both hands, or there's an amphora stand just here if you need it – the tap's stiff sometimes." He hoisted the jar up. "It's not a proper water jar, but it's not a wine amphora, at least – those have really pointy bottoms. Would you get the door?"

"Sure." Moss obliged, and the amphora was deposited back in its usual place, the now empty vase was put on the shelf with the other items used in the _lararium_ , the light turned off, and the salt-cellar was returned to the kitchen.

"Right, next things next," Junio said, glancing at the clock as the kitchen slaves emerged blinking from the dormitory, heading to complete their ablutions. "This is the cleaning cupboard. The atrium gets swept every morning, and swept and mopped after the master goes to bed – there's no point doing it in the morning when it takes ages to dry and someone's bound to walk across it and leave dirty great footprints all over it. Most actual cleaning's done in the evening, and there's a schedule in our hallway that shows what needs doing and when. The others'll be up soon, there's more work than for just two of us – one of me, until today." He grabbed two brooms and a dustpan and brush, passing a broom to Moss, who followed him back out to the atrium, which had lightened considerably as the sun came up.

"If Master comes out of his room," Junio added, more quietly, as they crossed the expanse of floor, "he'll probably ignore us. If he doesn't, kneel down and answer whatever he says. Though, as it looks like a nice day, he'll probably eat breakfast under the garden portico rather than coming out here."

Moss paused momentarily at the sounds of sex coming from the master's room, then shrugged and began sweeping. What the master got up to was no business of his, if it didn't immediately involve him, and from the sounds of it, he was rather glad it _didn't_ involve him.

"On the other hand," Junio said, grinning, "Master could be busy until we're finished out here." 

"Does he... with anyone else than Ven?" Moss asked tremulously, remembering how his previous master made free with any slave crossing his path if he was in the mood.

"No." Junio shook his head. "He could, of course, but he never has. Sometimes he has friends to stay when they visit Rome, and they might want a fuck, but usually it's just serving in the bath-house – massages or scraping them down." He shrugged; being loaned out was just one of those things that happened to slaves that they had to deal with from time to time.

Moss couldn't help the slight sigh of relief at that bit of information, even as he turned to the first of his actual chores in this house.

Sweeping didn't take long; the floor had been mopped the previous evening, and there weren't a whole lot of things that required dusting – a couple of side-tables, the woodwork of the various sofas and seats scattered around. The slave-quarters were bustling when they went to put the cleaning things away.

"How does breakfast work? I mean, do we eat before Master, or after, or...?" Moss asked, trying to work out what was going on, and who all the other faces were – there were more slaves present than he had been aware of, yesterday. 

He was sure he'd learn who everyone was eventually, but it was still a bit disquieting to realise just how rich his new owner was, though maybe he'd have a quieter life if there were a lot of other slaves. He could recognise the other house-slaves, compared to the kitchen-slaves; they were dressed neater and groomed perhaps a little better; which would make sense for the slaves who were kept to wait in the atrium to take messages, or whatever. He had once heard it described as a visible conspicuous consumption of wealth, or something – it wasn't really necessary to have slaves standing around doing nothing, but it was a silent demonstration of the master's ability to buy slaves to do nothing. Slaves weren't exactly cheap, after all.

"Whoever's on duty in the atrium will take Master's breakfast tray out and then come and eat their own – Ven serves his coffee and whatever else he wants. Then we go back out to take our places – you've seen the intercom panels. There's three of those in the atrium, but there's generally only two of us out there, unless there's something really major going on. One of us will bring the tray back to the kitchen, but that only takes a moment. Whoever's not on atrium duty will do laundry or shopping or whatever other chores are needed out here," Junio said.

Moss nodded; there was a lot to take in. It did sound as though his new life would hold some variety. Of sorts, anyway. "I think Willow said about keeping me out of public duties for a bit, but then he said I was to be with you, so... I don't know what I'm supposed to do."

"Um."

That didn't sound exactly reassuring, of course. 

"Stick with Junio for now," Willow said, coming up to them. "You look more of a matched pair than Junio and Ven did, anyway, and you seem to be getting on all right. You'll have to do atrium duty at some point, anyway, and it isn't as though there's much to do – if you do get sent on an errand and don't know what to do or where to go, come here and I'll find someone to go with you. First things first, though – someone needs to take Master's breakfast tray out."

"If you carry it, Moss, I'll show you where to put it – oh!" The intercom chimed and Junio and Willow both turned to look at the nearest panel. Junio vanished into the main part of the house to see what was wanted.

"It's an older system; the newer ones actually allow the master to talk. But in a house like this, with the number of slaves Master has, this works as well – he prefers to give orders face-to-face, and it's really just to call someone in to take an order," Willow said. "It probably means Master wants breakfast out in the _peristylium_ rather than in the atrium. We'll find out in a moment."

Junio came back, to inform them that indeed Master wanted his _iēntāculum_ outside looking at the garden. "We'll go through the garden door, rather than via the dining-room," he said. "Come on."

The tray was not heavy. There was a basket of bread rolls, a large bowl of fruit cubes, a saucer of olive oil, a pot of coffee and a glass of milk. It looked enough to feed two, and as Junio quickly moved the breakfast things from the tray to the table, Moss realised that it was indeed a breakfast for two. Master was approaching with Ven just behind him. Moss was pleased to notice that Ven had been allowed to dress this morning, and returned the other's smile, stepping back with the empty tray as Master seated himself, allowing Ven to settle (hiding a wince) on the cushion at his feet. Master absently flicked his fingers in a silent sign that Moss and Junio were dismissed and they returned to the kitchen to have their own breakfasts surrounded by the friendly chatter of the rest of the household.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _lararium_ \- household shrine  
>  _frigidarium_ \- cold room of a Roman bath-house  
>  _Lares_ \- guardian deities  
>  _Penates_ \- household gods of the store-house  
>  _peristylium_ \- colonnade around a Roman garden  
>  _triclinium_ \- dining room, named for the three couches arranged around the low table  
>  _cubicula_ \- bedrooms (singular is _cubiculum_ )  
>  _tablinum_ \- the master's study or home office, situated in the centre of the house, from where he could see everything that went on  
>  _iēntāculum_ \- breakfast

**Author's Note:**

> Translation notes: _Pecūlium_ = basically, pocket-money; the small earnings generally considered to be a slave's own money (even though technically a slave wasn't allowed to own anything, being a possession himself). In the ancient Roman world, slaves could save their _pecūlium_ up until they could buy themselves, purchasing their own freedom. Words change meanings over time and I'm pretty sure that given 2000+ years, it's reasonable to assume that the state-mandated fund every slave now has that goes towards their being able to eventually purchase their freedom would also end up being named the _pecūlium_. 
> 
> Money: (This was the bit that was giving me the biggest headache because they didn't have as large a selection of coins at regular intervals as we do today.) I have more or less kept to the original Ancient Roman system of the Augustan period (though simplified it a bit) because if it ain't broke, why fix it, and they rule the world... Also, it's the most familiar system of Roman coinage due to the number of novels set during the early part of the Roman Empire. A quadrans is a bronze coin, the smallest denomination, approximately equivalent to 10 pence. The system was vaguely decimal anyway....  
> 4 quadrans = 1 as (approx. 40 pence)  
> 2 ½ asses = 1 sestertius (silver) (The basic denomination for buying anything, _very_ roughly equal to £1)  
>  4 sestertii = 1 denarius (£4)  
> 25 denarii = 1 aureus (£100)
> 
> (Side-note: 1 sestertius is roughly equivalent to £1, 1 denarius to £4, therefore an aureus is roughly equivalent to £100. Moss cost the equivalent of a used car – my first car cost me £4000. As Obi-Wan Kenobi would say: Very interesting... I'm glad my approximate monetary ideas hold up! Though I've not taken inflation into account; that would just make it harder and less realistic overall, I think. Numbers-wise, anyway.)


End file.
